


A Forgotten Memory

by names_are_boring



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 10:02:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16595747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/names_are_boring/pseuds/names_are_boring
Summary: What happened on that Wednesday Sherlock drugged John?





	A Forgotten Memory

The buzz of excitement shot through the kitchen, busting through the silence of the surrounding rooms. Experiment after experiment were performed in the early hours of the morning. Too much to do. There’s always too much to do, but isn’t that entertaining? The bustle brought about by a deadline. The energy rushing through your veins from the anxiety of being late! The overeager emotions wanting to burst at the thought of being a success! It was all too much, yet not enough. Not enough. Never enough. 

An idea. A strike of revelations. A new subject. Something different. Something more interesting than the present duties. Yes, yes that will do! Take the bottle. Mix your serum. Offer it. Take it. Take it. Take. 

“Morning” John rubbed his hand over his face as he entered the kitchen, making his way to the sink. His motions were slow, but rehearsed as he prepared his daily tea. Sherlock glanced up from his slides. “You’ve already made yourself a cup, or was that Miss Hudson? We really should get her something for all her troubles. Last week she told me that you broke her mother’s vase… how did you manage to do that?” John lifted the cup to his lips. Yes, drink it. 

“Hmm?” Sherlock looked back to his slides, pretending to ignore the doctors movements. John mumbled something about ‘forget it’ and then he was off to shower. Time, it will only be a matter of time before- 

“Sherlock!” 

The detective abruptly stood, then made his way to the bathroom door. John opened it with an irritated glint in his eyes. He held up one finger to point at the accused, then another to point at the sink. Oh, it’s only that. Sherlock’s shoulders deflated. 

“Get those, those- things out of our sink! Now!” John felt the rage sting his words, but he couldn’t shower with blue fingers in the sink. There is no way that he will ever, and I mean ever, allow Sherlock to make the place he brushes his teeth, hazardous. Sherlock grumbled his disappointment then followed it with facts about the human finger, as he cleaned up his mess. John didn’t question it, only shut the door to continue his morning routine. 

Waiting is always the most dreaded part of any experiment. Will it work? What happens if it goes wrong? Common side effects include an improved mood, altered perception, delusional thinking, and relaxation. Negative side effects include vomiting, confusion, agitation, hallucinations, increased heart rate, anxiety, and paranoia. Well, maybe this wasn’t a good idea. He took the bait without any hesitation, what does that tell you? He trusts too easily. He doesn’t realize how dangerous trusting others can be. 

Seven more minutes. 

Sherlock paced around the kitchen with his hands behind his back. Questions. Too many questions. Too many negative outcomes. Too much regret. Waiting is always the worst part of any experiment. 

The shower went off and a curtain was drawn back. Time passed slowly as Sherlock walked to the living room. He glanced about before taking a seat in his chair. Small noises came from inside the bathroom as John finished getting ready. Towards the end of his routine, Sherlock could hear more thuds. He must be getting clumsy, good, it’s setting in. The door opened and the normally soft pads of feet walking across wood turned to heavy thumps of wavering steps. 

“Sherlock, I’m not going in today…” John spoke, bewildered. 

“Going in?” 

“To the clinic. I’m not going to work. I’m, off.” John took a seat in front of the detective. His movements slow, he tried to steady himself on the cushion. 

“Are you alright? How do you feel?” Sherlock managed to keep himself seated, fighting the edge to jump forward and examine. John looked up at him as questions rose and fell between them. 

“I said, I’m off. I think I’ll just go back to bed then. No use staying down here when my bed is calling my name.” John let out a hollow chuckle. When he attempted to stand, he stumbled backwards. Sherlock stood beside him and held out his hand. 

“Must’ve been something you ate.” Well, it wasn’t a lie. “You can stay in my room, if you’d like to.” His offer would benefit them both. No use in letting John hide away in his room all day. Data needed to be collected. John gave him a weary grin, then took his hand to steady himself. He thought over the offer for a few minutes before answering. 

“Alright, thanks.” John let himself be led to Sherlock’s bedroom. His eyes began to shut as they walked through the door. He mustn’t have realized it, but soon he was leaning his head against Sherlock’s shoulder. 

“John.. are you asleep?” They were still standing. Sherlock glanced down at him, then decided he must be asleep. With a few careful, but still clumsy, movements he had John under the covers. “That was a waste of a good stimulant.” Sherlock sighed, not bothering to question why John fell asleep instead of being wired. 

A few hours passed by and Sherlock found himself more busy worrying than experimenting. John had woken up twice, both times delirious and demanding attention. He was hungry and hot. He came to the conclusion that clothes were his enemy, so the only logical solution was to throw them off. Throw them all off. 

“John, what are you doing? You are a grown man! Not a toddler. Do keep your clothes attached to your body.” Sherlock huffed as he picked up Johns shirt for the third time in the past ten minutes. He glared at the half naked form on his bed. How was he supposed to deal with this John? With another sigh, he walked over to the bed and placed Johns shirt into his hands. “Put. It. On. Now.” 

“What if I don't want to? Hmm? It’s too hot in this bloody flat. I blame you for that. You and your cold feet and your cold hands! Never able to stand a normal temp. I’m hot, therefore I won't be putting my shirt back on.” John glared back like a problematic child. Sherlock grabbed the shirt and forced it over John’s head. 

“I told you earlier, if you wish to stay downstairs- in my bed, then you will wear your clothing.” 

“Why? Is the Great Sherlock Holmes offended by a bare chest? Is that it? You’re embarrassed?” John shot out and flung the shirt off of himself once more. The detective felt heat rise to his cheeks, but kept himself in check. 

“John, you are a reasonable man, you are an emotional man- yes, but reasonable. My terms aren’t unreasonable, even you must see that. For god’s sake, put your shirt back on!” As Sherlock raised his voice, John pounced, pulling him down until he was pinned underneath him on the bed. John smiled triumphantly as he stared down at the surprised detective. “John- what are you doing? Let me go!” 

“No” 

“Get off! This is absurd. Let me go.” Sherlock wiggled against his grip. John pinned his arms so that his head was between them. His hold over Sherlock’s wrists only tightened with the struggle. 

“No” Johns gaze became predatory as his eyes darkened with delight. Whatever overcame him in that second caused him to lose control. In a flash he bent down and attacked the pale flesh of an unprepared neck. Sherlock jumped in response to the sudden change. John took advantage of the moment and bit down, gaining a whimper from his prey. 

“John, stop, you’re not in your right mind-” He couldn’t admit that he quite liked this. He couldn’t admit that this was a possibility he considered beforehand. He couldn’t admit that by proceeding he would be taking advantage. He couldn’t admit that he wanted to. With a reluctant grunt, he pushed the blonde off him. 

“Hey, why’d you do that?” John sat back looking as if he could pounce again. 

“John, what are you- why would you..” Sherlock didn’t finish his sentence, only sat up as a blush threatened to break free. John wasn’t phased by his sudden movements. He looked around the room then met Sherlock’s gaze. 

“I’m not sure what’s gotten into me, but I don’t want to stop. I’ve just now gotten the courage to move, and I’m not going to cower down. Don’t make me.” 

“John, you don’t- Wait, cower down? I don’t understand. You were just complaining to me that you needed space, then you shouted bloody murder until I came back. You told me you wanted me gone, then demanded my presence. Now, you want to pin me to my bed? Do you not see the flaw in your actions? The inconsistency?” Sherlock should have known drugging this man would not be a good idea. He should have known. His problem was that he did know, but ignored reason. 

“I’m off,” John said once more. “I’m not sure what is happening, but- but I like it. I’ve never felt so,” He looked at his hands as if for the first time, “alive.” His eyes shot back up to pierce through Sherlock’s. “And right now, I feel like I’m going to explode. All this energy is pent up. I don’t know what is going on, but I need- I need something.” John sat frozen on the bed as time slowly ticked by. “You.” 

“Me?” 

“Yes, you, I want you.” John inched himself forward until he was right in front of Sherlock. They stared at each other for a long minute before Sherlock cleared his throat. 

“John, I drugged you.” I’m sorry, it was a mistake. I’m so sorry. Don’t leave me. 

Johns eyebrows furrowed. His mouth opened and closed. He looked down at his hands once more, then looked back up. His eyes crept up along Sherlock’s body, until they landed on his face. 

“I’m not really surprised..” John didn’t sound disappointed, he smiled. He laughed. He laughed. “I don’t care anymore. Sherlock, I’ve been too afraid to move, too afraid to act, and now that whatever the hell you put into me is now in my system, I’m not backing down.” John leaned forward. “Kiss me.” Sherlock’s eyes widened. 

“What?” 

“Kiss me. I won’t get another chance. Please.” 

Sherlock stared in shock. He didn’t know what to do. How did he get into this mess? Should he move? Should he follow through with this? John isn’t in his right mind. John shouldn’t ask these things. The choice to move was taken from him as John closed the gap between them. Sherlock froze as his hands shook. What is John doing? This is wrong. This should be wrong, but it doesn’t feel wrong. Why isn’t this wrong? 

Sherlock let out a sigh against John's lips, unknowingly offering to further the kiss. As soon as he started kissing back, John pushed him down onto the bed. He pulled away to ask “is this okay?” to which Sherlock only nodded. The lump inside his throat grew as John latched onto his exposed neck. His lips grazed the soft skin, his tongue darted out to tease, his teeth made an appearance and bit. He sucked marks into the sensitive skin, claiming. Claiming, why is he claiming? 

Sherlock wanted to ask questions, he wanted to know why this? Why does John seem so determined? Said man slipped his hand under Sherlock’s shirt and worked its way up to the now hardened nipple. He pinched it, gaining a gasp from Sherlock. He continued to tease and nip at every inch of available skin, but that wasn’t enough. It’s never enough. 

“Sherlock” he removed his hands from underneath his shirt only to pull it up and off. “Is this okay?” He asked again. Sherlock nodded, John didn’t hesitate to reconnect their bodies. Their exposed chests radiated heat of each other. He leaned down, stole an almost forceful kiss, then ground his hips down into Sherlock’s, sending shocks of pleasure through both their bodies. 

“John-” Sherlock felt it. He felt everything. His skin lit up as shockwaves trailed down his spine. His erection stood proudly inside his constricting pants. He wanted more. Why can’t this be enough? Another gasp escaped him as John's hands began to wander over his chest and down, down, down… “John!” Sherlock heard the name ring throughout his room as a hand cupped him through his jeans. 

“Is this alright?” John whispered into his ear. Another nod passed between them and John was biting and kissing his skin. His hand worked its way to the buttons, then into his pants, until nothing was between them. John wanted it. He wanted it all. He was done waiting. John didn’t stop, he pulled Sherlock’s pants down in one swift motion, then kissed his way down from Sherlock’s chest, torso, stomach, to the base of his length. 

John took him in his mouth. He took him in his mouth. Everything was too, practiced. John hollowed his cheeks then sucked at his head. With slow teasing movements, he licked his tongue at the tip, causing Sherlock to buck his hips. He pushed the detective down with one hand, then used the other to pump at his base. With the combination of the slick heat of John's mouth around him, and the hand at his base, Sherlock felt himself fall apart. The heat that swirled inside him pooled lower in his body. His groin ached, his highs shook, he wanted to let go. He needed to let go. John pulled away with a pop. 

“Come for me” and that’s all it took… 

** 

John was reluctant to let Sherlock mirror his actions. He claimed he didn’t need to be taken care of, but after a few distracting kisses, he was too drunk on being pleasured to argue. Sherlock used his hands instead of his mouth, but it was efficient. When John was done, he collapsed on the bed, too tired to move. 

Sherlock was mortified. Why had he let it get out of hand? Why had he done this to John in the first place? What does this mean about.. them? Would John remember what he did? Would he care? My god, of course he would care! John, the man that yells ‘Not Gay!’ Would be devastated to know what he’d done. That thought alone was enough to send Sherlock running. He gathered himself, then walked to the bathroom. He needed to get rid of the evidence. 

He cleaned himself off, then wiped down John. It wasn’t as hard as he thought to put the man’s pants on. It only took him a few seconds to come up with a passable lie as to their recent events. The only thing he could not cover up, was the marks let on his skin. A scarf would do. A scarf could fix this.. but it couldn’t. It can’t. 

Sherlock slumped to the floor in the bathroom. A tear slipped out. Then another, and another. He clutched at his sides as the pain rippled through his chest. His lungs tightened as they beat against his ribs. His head throbbed as he clenched his jaw. What was he going to do? John is going to hate him. John is going to hate him. 

Sherlock’s form melted into the tile as he cried. His eyes would be puffy, red, too swollen to see, but he didn’t care. His nose would be runny, proof that he cried. He knew John would be able to read his features, but he couldn’t stop himself. Regret filled the void he felt. Questions bounced inside his head. How could he have let this happen? For the first time in his life, Sherlock didn’t know what to do.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, not sorry.


End file.
